Dress in drag and do the hula!
by RaggyDollPirate
Summary: James contemplates his tendency to crossdress and his motivation for doing so. Simple, unplanned oneshot with Rocketshippy notes.


**A/N: **So**. **My first fanfic on this account for years and not only is it based upon a most peculiar topic, but with a character I've never written before and in a tense I'm not used to. Go figure. Please be gentle in reviews? :D Anyone who gets the title reference is automatically awesome.

There's some (possibly one-sided?) Rocketshipping involved if you want to see it that way, otherwise you could look at it as super close friendship.

Disclaimer: Neither Pokemon nor it's characters belong to me. Because obviously if I did, I'd be spending my evenings writing fanfiction.

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New wigs. They can be a complete pain in the rear when they want to, especially when time is short and you need them styled properly: it's as if they just develop a life of their own and make it their business to fight every brush, comb and spray known to man (and pokemon) with a distinct vehemence just when you need it's co-operation. You would find it easier getting a Magicarp to learn an actual move that works.

Styling aside, the wig happens to be the final piece of the puzzle to yet another ingenious (if I do say so myself) disguise designed specifically for one more classic Team Rocket scam. Obviously I'll refrain from divulging the specifics of what our scheme involves exactly, (this one simply can't fail and I would so hate to spoil the surprise), but it includes plenty of confetti, food dye, Meowth dressed as a doctor and lots and lots of false advertising.

Oh yes, and I'm dressed as a geisha. Jessie outdid herself on sourcing such a wonderfully intricate kimono for this afternoon's performance.

So. The crossdressing. It's become something of an awkward point back in the HQ amongst the other Agents (I won't even repeat what Cassidy had to say about it and the 'impression it gives others'), but quite frankly? I could care less these days. Despite what everyone else thinks, I don't find any particular joy in wearing women's clothes: clothing is clothing and acting is acting. I appreciate the finer things, and of course, a lot of the costumes we wear tend to be very fine indeed. So you put on a voice and behave in an effeminate manner before strangers and twerps, who cares? Actors do it all the time, and that's exactly what we are at the end of the day: highly trained thespians who just happen to have incredibly sticky fingers and a love for causing chaos.

Alright, perhaps there _is_ an element of freedom involved in why I choose to play a girl: the ability to break the rules of conformity and do something my parents would never, ever, have approved of (I'd be in the madhouse for sure if they saw me now) still contains that little rush, and I can't help but feel giddy with excitement to be doing exactly what _I _want, of my own volition, even if it is for something as silly as dress-up and disguise.

With about five minutes to showtime and neither Jessie nor Meowth having shown up since disappearing to get ready, I finally manage to wrestle the wig into submission and decide it may be a good idea to go and find out just what's happened to them. Passing through the little tent we've set up just on the outskirts of town, I can't help but catch sight of my reflection in the mirror by the exit and am unable to approach, taking a little time to reassess the figure staring back at me with such keen interest.

I'm not going to lie when it comes to my most proud feature: I _am_ gorgeous, and in either gender to boot, but something has undeniably changed about me in the last few moments of styling and suddenly it's like I'm staring at a stranger: there's something oddly detached in my stare, a kind of focus I only wish I could have when I'm out on the field after that blasted twerp and his twice-blasted rodent, and a sureness in the way I hold myself that implies a real sense of surety. I guess it's like all of those shy and retiring stage-folks who suddenly stride out onto stage as the loud and bawdy villains they play and forget themselves to the power of pretend. Fantasies always were a preference of mine, and escapism is certainly no stranger to the downhearted Rocket Field Agent.

...Of _course_ I do it for her. Every time those costumes come out of the box or bags or backrooms of stores, there's the same impish expression that flits across my partner's face and she hands me the dress or skirt or kimono and it's a look that is simply impossible for me to resist. It never gets old for her to see not only her commands obeyed, but her best friend looking so decidedly different (and occasionally ridiculous, I'll admit). For me? it never gets old to see her smile like she does when first she sees me parading around in a new costume, falsetto voice and delicate walk included. Her good mood rarely lasts due to the failures that tend to follow such schemes of ours, but at least for a brief moment before we head out to work, she's had her daily dose of laughter, something she so sorely lacked in her childhood. I love making Jessie laugh: when she does it's living proof that anything's possible.

"Hey, dozing beauty; when you're quite done staring at yourself, are you ready to go yet?"

"Oh?" Blinking, I once again realize that I've drifted (so much for that focus I mentioned earlier) and can't resist giving the redhead at the tent door an awkward smile after the guilty shock before coughing and straightening up. The falsetto goes on, the body language alters and instantly the transformation's complete.

"But of course, my dear! Now then, let's get out there and make ourselves stars!"

And there it is, like a moonbeam through a peaceful forest; like the last rays of an evening sunset. _The_ smile. Anything's possible today. Perhaps we'll even catch Pikachu.

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Wowwww I really can't do first person fanfiction. James feels wayyy too stuffy in this x.x apologies, dear James fans! This experiment has told me much, at least xD


End file.
